


Human Resources

by Turnpike



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Academy Trilogy - Kevin J. Anderson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, Ethics, Gen, Jedi Training (Star Wars), Paperwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27616421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turnpike/pseuds/Turnpike
Summary: In an AU where the New Republic is more dubious about letting a flight jockey with no formal education to train random strangers how to use lethal powers, Luke finds himself saddled with a human resources officer.  The good news?  She's force-sensitive.  The bad news?  Being a jedi now comes with a side of paperwork and professional ethics.
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

_Luke turned to answer Threepio's question. "I'm going to Bespin to check on somebody there, but first I want to go to an old outpost called Eol Sha. I've got reason to believe that at least one lost Jedi descendant might be there." With a swish of his cloak, Luke turned to depart from the  
Information Center—_

\--and ran smack-dab into a petite brunette holding a clipboard.

He staggered back, dumbfounded, and felt for her in the Force. It had been some time since he’d been so distracted as to lose awareness of his surroundings. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, bending to pick up her dropped pen. 

She readjusted her askew glasses and pursed her lips. “Not a problem,” she said dismissively, in a tone that suggested, yes, yes it was a problem, and he ought to do something about it. He offered her the pen like an olive branch. She stared at it, so long that he reached vaguely towards her mind to try to sense what, exactly, she expected of him, and at that moment, she grabbed it back and proffered her hand.

“Arkana bel Mirando. Human Resources.”

He shook her hand reflexively, no less confused before this introduction than before. “Human Resources…”

“You requested the official sanction of the New Republic for your endeavour to found a new academy for training Jedi Knights. As per Republic orders, all training facilities founded under the aegis of our government must follow protocol.”

Luke blinked. Somehow, caught up in the romance and adventure of facing up against the sheer impossibility of finding other force-sensitives, he’d missed something important. He asked the Force what it was. The Force didn’t answer, but the woman did.

“Protocol,” she repeated with exasperation. “Documentation of methods? Screening of personnel? Mandatory health and safety training?”

Luke’s lips moved, but no sound emerged.

“Didn’t you check the messages on your hololog?”

C-3P0 turned helpfully away from the console he was operating. “Master Luke has exactly 3,996 unread messages from the New Republic in the last standard Coruscanti Solar Cycle alone, with 35% of these proceeding from the Human Resources office.”

It was the woman’s turn to gape. She looked at him as though he was some species of incompetent as yet undiscovered.

“I was busy with more important things.”

“I doubt that,” she told him. 

“I’ll deal with it when I return,” he told her. By then, she’d have moved on to beleaguer other personnel with bureaucratic niceties.

“No you won’t,” she said simply, falling in step behind him. 

He struggled to remind himself that patience was the Jedi Way as Artoo chortled at him, rolling up behind the woman as they walked towards his ship. An unfamiliar freighter was parked perilously close to it. He grimaced.

“I will,” he lied.

“You won’t. Luckily, I’m coming with you,” she told him. 

“No you aren’t,” he waved his hands, remembering Kenobi’s training. Where he was going was no place for a random bureaucrat. 

“Yes I am,” she responded unexpectedly.

Had he forgotten how to do this? He pushed the compulsion harder. “No, you aren’t.”

“Am too. Have we regressed to childish retorts, Master Skywalker?” He stared at her, bewildered. “Oh. I see.” Her lip curled. “Jedi mind tricks. Master Skywalker, although no laws at present have been revived to address the use of psychic compulsion without due cause, I think you will find that they will arise rather quickly if all your trainees are as inclined as you towards psychic assault.”

“Assault?”

“Trespassing upon the body and mind of another? Sabotaging the autonomy of another sentient being?” She shook her head. “If you had done this with drugs or psychological conditioning, it would incur a sentence of a minimum of four years under Coruscanti Law. Clearly, you are without moral compass.”

He stared open-mouthed.

And then shut his mouth. On a sudden realization, he launched a direct probe towards the woman’s deep memory core. The recoil of her reflexive Force response knocked him back a few inches. 

“You’re a Force-Sensitive,” he breathed.

“Did you not listen to anything I said?” she snapped. “This is your second account of psychic assault in the last ten minutes. This is being written up in your record—”

He waved his hand. “No matter. Bel Mirando. Is that your real name? What star system are you from? Are you related to any Jedi?”

She stared disgustedly at him, and sighed. “Fill out the paperwork on the way, and then I’ll answer your questions.”

“Paperwork? I don’t really have any writing surfaces in the X-wing—”

“The Senior Council has graciously given us the use of this YT-2500 Cruiser for the duration of this mission. You may stow your fighter in the hold.” She checked her hololog. “Your protocol droid was gracious enough to comply with my requests for mission parameters. Eol Sha, yes?”

He was going to use Threepio to build a stereo system for the X-wing one of these days. 

“Yes.”

Arkana smiled. It was not a nice smile, Luke realized. It was the kind of smile that made children sit down and write a hundred lines during recreation and scared them into bed at 19:00 hours, holidays included.

“Good. Let me show you the ship, Master Skywalker.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Senator Bel Iblis raised himself slowly to his feet. "A comment, if I may? I'm sorry, Luke, but I have to raise the question--we've already seen the terrible damage a Jedi can cause if he allows himself to be swayed by the dark side. We just recently fought against Joruus C'baoth, and of course Darth Vader nearly caused the death of us all. If a teacher as great as Obi-Wan Kenobi could fail and let his student fall to evil, how can we take the risk of training an entire new order of Jedi Knights? How many will turn to the dark side? How many new enemies will we make for ourselves?"_

“Stang,” Garm cursed as he flung himself back in his chair. “Kriffing stoopa son of a Hutt. Sithspit.”

His secretary set a sheaf of paperwork down on his desk. “Should I search the databases for any additional curses, or are the ones you’ve committed to heart quite adequate?”

He huffed. 

“That bad?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.” He began to sift through the paperwork: requisitions for new ships, sign-offs on new pilots, interoffice memos. Stars, he wanted to be back at the helm of Peregrine already. Let someone else handle the filing. “Luke Skywalker appeared before High Command.”

“Really?” Sonya asked, trying and failing to seem disinterested. Garm snorted. Why women found the untutored farmboy appealing, he’d never know, but then, he’d resigned himself decades ago to never understanding the fairer sex.

“Really,” he affirmed, turning back to his reports.

A few seconds of silence passed before Sonya grew impatient. “What is he like?”

“Blond. Athletic. Bears a startling resemblance to those toy fashion dolls you brought in to donate to the Coruscanti orphans.”

“No, I meant… what did he want?”

Garm put down his papers. “He wanted to re-establish the Jedi Order.”

“Oh. Oh. You mean, people like us, potentially, could go off and train with Luke Skywalker—”

“Master Skywalker. And he’s only accepting force-sensitive pupils.”

“Well, how would he know if anyone was force sensitive unless he tried to teach them first? Is there an application process in place yet? Is he taking internal transfers or recruiting externally? How is he reviewing candidates for the positions? Where are the job descriptions? What’s the pay grade?”

Garm groaned. “He didn’t tell the High Command, but according to Commander Antilles, the application process consists of either a psychic assault by Master Skywalker to test for Jedi skills, or scanning you with an antiquated medical device. Skywalker hasn’t submitted either technique for safety checking and formal approval by Medical Administration yet, and to the best of my knowledge, he doesn’t plan to. He’s recruiting externally by flying around the galaxy and chasing down people with unusual luck, such as cardsharks and former Imperial assassins, and as far as I know, he’s taking anyone with force ability, regardless of background.”

Disbelief dawned on Sonya’s face, so that Garm could see the exact moment where her incredulity at the situation eclipsed any hero-worship she held towards the last Jedi.

“With regards to job descriptions, he suggested the Jedi would mediate conflicts and protect the Republic, but he was rather vague as to how this role would differ from that of our current peacekeepers and military personnel, or how he planned to keep Jedi accountable for their actions when their influence is invisible to anyone but the Jedi.”

And now, horror drew over disbelief.

“As for paygrade,” he finished, “apparently, after being offered absolute power over the minds and motives of all other sentient beings, it stands to reason these new Jedi will accept room and board as adequate payment for routine high-risk missions without holidays, benefits, or a pension plan.”

Sonya gaped.

“Stang.”

“Exactly.” Garm combed his hands back through his still-abundant grey hair, frowning. 

“How can he—does he have no idea about protocol? Someone must have at least mentioned it at the meeting of High Command?”

Garm chuckled. “Sonya, how many holologs has Human Resources sent Skywalker?”

“Well… I could count them for you, if it’s necessary, sir.”

“Unnecessary. How many has he replied to?”

“Well, I’m sure he must have—I mean, I know I’ve messaged him about reviewing the new docking protocols issued for Dreadnought and Star Destroyer class vessels and completing the quizzes, but he must be very busy—”

“How many?”

“None,” she admitted.

Garm nodded to himself. “And then he docks aboard Peregrine and half my flight crew has to navigate around him or park in the back decks because he can’t be current with protocol.”

“Well, we could ground him—”

“He’s a Jedi Master. A hero of the New Republic. He can literally convince you down is up and up is down. How long, do you think, it would be before he decided it was in the best interests of the galaxy that he ignore Council mandates to pursue his own agenda?” Garm sighed, ignoring the conversation taking place just outside his office. Why his clerks couldn’t gossip in the cantina like normal Corellians, he had no notion. He rubbed his forehead, feeling a migraine in the works.

“Sir?”

“Sonya.”

“Pardon me, sir, but the way you talk about Master Skywalker seems quite negative. I thought you admired the Jedi.”

“I admire the Old Order. They were philosophers, scholars, scientists—literally every profession had Jedi trained to the highest levels achievable. They were self-governing, and the opinions of extremist elements were curtailed by more experienced members. Master Skywalker though, is a single man, a young man, with little to no formal education. He has a good heart,” Garm acknowledged, “but a good heart alone cannot hope to manage every conflict and risk this endeavor poses.”

“So what are we going to do about it?” 

The conversation outside his office increased in volume. A shrill voice shattered his concentration. His headache redoubled.

“Just a sec,” he limped up from the desk to peer out into the hallway. “What is this about?”

Lena Farsey, his clerk from back on Corellia, who’d served the government longer than even he had, was standing off against a small dark-haired woman holding a holotablet.

“Garm,” Lena told him, irate. “This young lady is reporting that my uniform is not up to standard and is scheduling me for a mandatory re-education course on workplace standards.”

Sonya winced visibly. The woman seemed indifferent. She scrutinized him through her glasses. “I’m afraid to say, sir, that you also qualify for the same re-education course. Your hair is past regulation length and the uniform code clearly states shoes are to be worn in the workplace.”

He wore slippers in his office. It was cold. 

He began to laugh with incredulity. 

“Do you have any idea who I am?” 

“General Bel Iblis, New Republic High Command, war veteran and sometime graduate of the Corellian Flight School.”

So she wasn’t ignorant, at least…

“And you are?”

“Arkana Bel Mirando,” she smiled, offering him her hand. “Social Sciences major at Coruscant Global University. I’m your office’s sessional intern. I can’t thank you enough for choosing my application out of the hundreds that you must have read.”

He goggled.

“In any case, Guillaume Travers over in Human Resources requested that I review the protocols and schedule the appropriate courses for those in need of a reminder. You’re available tomorrow morning, right?”

“Miss Bel Mirando, I’m the General. I do not have time for needless bureaucracy. Nor do I imagine anyone else in my department does.”

She fixed him with a stare. “I am very sorry, sir,” and at least, she seemed to try to sound apologetic, “but no one, regardless of rank, is above the rules. Isn’t that what you imply in chapter 35 of your analysis of the fall of the Old Republic?”

“I very much doubt the Old Republic fell due to a dress code violation. Please return to your workstation for the remainder of the day. That is an order.”

She pursed her lips at him, turned on her heel, and marched away.

“What a stupid little—” Lena began, only to be cut short by Garm’s laughter. He limped painfully back to his desk, Lena spilling invectives nearly as inventive as his own as he did so.

“You picked her?”

“I didn’t actually read the essays,” he admitted. “I picked one randomly, skimmed it, and when her background check cleared, I hired her. I don’t have time to interview an intern.” He considered. “Though the situation is ironic, given that how I was just criticizing Master Skywalker for his carelessness.”

“I will gladly help to interview the candidates you choose to fill Bel Mirando’s position,” Lena told him.

“No, that’s not what I meant—she had a point. Even a Jedi Master isn’t above the rules. Though she’s very annoying. Have Travers place her on data entry on the holo unit in the storage room for the next few cycles. Get her to input the expired personnel files. She can’t disrupt anything doing that.” Lena marched out with a satisfied smile on her face. Inputting expired files was generally either a task they drew straws for, or was assigned punishment for the worst misdemeanors. He’d hadn’t put anyone on that since the glitterspice addict on his team had met a diplomat stoned, and he hadn’t fired that man until he’d input the whole backlog of expired files into the database. And that had taken almost two solar cycles.

He turned back to Sonya. “Getting back to Skywalker--if we could assign him a permanent liaison—”

“We’ve tried that,” Sonya pointed out. “One suffered memory loss and doesn’t remember anything that happened for about an hour that day. One is still talking to the walls. The other three gave up after he locked them out of his workquarters, lost his commlink and hololog multiple times, and left to handle several emergencies without explanation before or since.”

“Right,” he grimaced. “It has to be someone he’ll respect. Someone he won’t just discard to go running off. He’d shake any regular management type or human resources liaison. All of his peers from the Rebel Alliance who are still in the Republic are in command positions of their own right now and can hardly drop them to supervise him. Even if they weren’t, there’s no telling whether or not he might go rogue and decide to run off on them if he felt it necessary—”

He snapped his fingers.

“We need a force-sensitive Human Resources officer.”

“I volunteer,” Sonya said immediately.

“Well, I’d be sorry to lose you—”

“—I’m sorry sir, but if the Force calls me—”

“—but it probably won’t be necessary. I’ll contact the engineers and tell them to ship me up the prototypes of that unapproved scanning technology he found. We have, what, 50,000 civilian staff on this planet alone? If we cover all the New Republic worlds, there has to be at least one person with both force sensitivity and the necessary skill set.”

“Yes sir.”

“We’d better get on it quickly. The Old Republic estimated the chances of someone being a potential Jedi were less than 1 in a million. It could take us months to find one.”

* * *

As it was, it took considerably less time than that.

Much to Sonya’s disappointment, the scanner revealed she had absolutely no Jedi potential. After several polite calls to the engineers about the ‘damaged’ devices, and much redundant recalibration by the harried engineers, Sonya had reluctantly accepted her fate was to admire Skywalker from a distance.

A few technicians trained on the machines set themselves up in the caf and resigned themselves to a hectic few days as eager staff queued up to be checked during their lunch breaks. Garm himself put aside his dislike of public appearances and ate in the caf to watch the process. Predictably, there were no successes.

Eight days, hundreds of impromptu requests from staff he’d never met before, and many thousands of tests later, he was prepared to go back to his office and never return. In fact, he would have been back there already, if not for the overly enthusiastic and ambitious young flight officer blocking his exit while rambling on about a complicated flight strategy he’d made himself. Many years later, he’d consider this delay fortuitous. At the moment, the migraine it was generating seemed too expansive for his head, and only grew a shrill voice cut through the din of the cafeteria, followed by swearing.

“Excuse me—” he pushed past the officer with a pained smile, and proceeded to hunt down the source of the ruckus.

He ought to have known.

“Pilots dockside are to wear New Republic colours, and no hats will be worn except by superior officers!”

The pilot scoffed. “Are you for kriffin’ real?”

Arkana made another note on her hololog. “Use of slang and cursing is also against workplace policy,” she said apologetically. “I can’t sign you up for a class, but there is a rather good refresher course in the datalogs I can recommend you to take—”

“Sithspit. You’re not even wearing uniform.”

Arkana protested. “I most certainly am.”

The pilot hooked her fingers around a medallion hanging about the girl’s neck. “You can’t wear jewelry to work.”

Garm’s breath caught at the sight of it. If that was what he thought it was—

“It’s a religious heirloom,” Arkana explained primly. “Wearing of religious heirlooms is protected under subsection 6.7 of the New Republic Ethics Committee Proceedings. I can also help you gain access to that documentation if you’d like.”

“That’s no religion I’ve ever seen—”

Garm paused to hear Arkana’s explanation.

“You must be unfamiliar with Corellian traditions. My great-grandmother received it from her spiritual guide, who also happened to be her supervisor in the Corellian Public Service. My family has worked in administration for generations.” Arkana explained proudly. Garm was embarrassed for her. 

“You mean you’re a hopped up little bureaucrat with an inflated ego—”

“—Inyri,” Garm interrupted. 

The pilot looked up, not at all bothered to see him there. “Sir.”

“Arkana, have you been tested for Jedi potential yet?”

“No sir.”

“You’re going to do that now.”

“Isn’t it voluntary?”

Garm blinked. “Yes.”

“I have other things to do then. Thank you sir.” She turned back to the room, undoubtedly scanning for another dress code violation. 

“Why don’t you want to be tested?”

“Well, I don’t want to be a Jedi,” she explained placidly. “Your top button is undone,” she added helpfully.

He ignored the latter comment and focused on the former. “Why not?”

“I prefer civilian service.”

“You can do that as a Jedi.”

“Can you?” she stared meditatively at a man who had his shirt untucked. “The general consensus seems to be that the New Jedi Order will be acting as an extension to the military. The tech support staff have been discussing lightsaber colors all week.”

“If you’re a Jedi, you can essentially write your own job description,” Garm told her.

She wrinkled her nose. “That sounds very unstructured.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Which is why the New Republic needs people like you. To lend it order.” He took her by the arm and escorted her, protesting, to the tech, who readied the scan. 

“Well, I don’t know—”

Her image on the scanner gleamed blue, a sign of Force potential.

“This,” Garm said, looking at her medallion, “is not just a religious symbol. It’s a Corellian Jedi coin. They were only given to the close family and friends of Corellian masters.”

“Well, none of my family were Jedi—”

“Guess your grandma’s boss did some ‘spiritual advising’ in the bedroom,” jeered the female pilot, who’d followed them. Arkana looked more shocked at the crudeness of the insinuation than the insinuation itself. She turned pointedly away from the pilot back to Garm.

“This is all very well and good, but I’d much rather complete my internship here and consider this after I have qualifications. Being a jedi doesn’t sound like a very stable career.”

“Miss. Bel Mirando, I promise you, if you cannot make a career as a Jedi, I will personally fund the rest of your education and guarantee you a position on my staff upon your graduation.” He heard choking. A few tables away, Lena was glaring daggers at him.

“Consider this an extension of your internship,” he added. “You’ll be instructing Master Skywalker and the other new Jedi on New Republic protocols and safety training for Jedi candidates in both civilian and military service. Creating new manuals and guidelines. I’ll call the Coruscant Global University personally and see to it that you’re able to return at any point. You may even be able to gain course credit. This is, after all, fieldwork. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” He paused to let that sink in. “You could change the galaxy. Be a hero for the Republic. What do you think of that?”

“Is the department paying for my room, board, and travel expenses?”


End file.
